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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28315812">can’t love your present, but i can try your past</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/impxra/pseuds/impxra'>impxra</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1980s, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Post Season 2, Time Travel, and a bobby brown stan, i am a robby keene warrior, implications of miguel/robby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:15:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,974</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28315812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/impxra/pseuds/impxra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Attempting to find balance after the school fight, Robby instead finds himself in a worse place: the Valley in 1984.</p><p>OR: Robby gets a chance to understand his dad’s stupidly intense high school rivalry, maybe more than he ever wanted to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence, Robby Keene &amp; Bobby Brown, Robby Keene &amp; Daniel LaRusso, Robby Keene &amp; Johnny Lawrence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>354</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. one.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: suicidal ideation</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s running from a school he’s hardly enrolled in, from the first real attention his dad’s given him in years, from Sam, from <em> Miguel- </em></p><p>the sound his back made when hitting the railing, a sharp <em> clang</em>-</p><p>Robby’s whole body aches, but he keeps his breaths even. He thinks briefly of how stupid, of how desperate he looks, cutting across parks, through crosswalks. He’s not sure where he’s going - there isn’t a single place in the whole valley, fuck, the entirety of Southern California, that he can call home. </p><p>There is no place for Robby Keene.</p><p>That’s the truth of everything, isn’t it? Mr. LaRusso dropped him the second he thought of him as a problem. Sam hadn’t gotten over Miguel. Miguel fought dirty and still got the trophy. Still got Robby’s <em> dad</em>. His dad who had never tried, but made room for some new kid. </p><p>His eyes burn. God, everyone’s pissed at him. Everyone’s going to hate him if they didn’t already. He doesn’t even know if Miguel’s fucking <em> alive</em>, if he’s in the hospital, if… if anything!</p><p>He has no idea where he is. He breaks after about two hours of staggering his run. Robby’s face needs to be cleaned up, and he does so in some cafe restroom, ignoring any looks he gets. Okay. He can’t say he hasn’t run away from cops before (except that had been for too loud parties, selling in stupid places, not <em> manslaughter</em>), so he has a concept of what to do. </p><p>Remove yourself from the scene. Stay low. </p><p>Robby wipes a hand over his eyes, pulls off his hoodie. He wants to toss it, thinking of the possible description that could be playing through dispatch. He shoves it down the can underneath the paper towels, walking out into the shop in a thin t-shirt, eyes searching. There’s a denim jacket hanging off the back of a chair, and Robby guesses the owner to be the guy shooting his shot with the barista with split-dyed hair. </p><p>He walks with purpose, swiping the jacket as he passes by and pushes the door open. He keeps his steps calm, purposeful, as he puts the jacket on over his shoulders. As soon as he gets past the storefront and its glass, Robby picks up his pace. There’s a chime behind him.</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>And Robby breaks out into a sprint. He ducks into a small park, past a playground. Unwarranted, unhinged laughter bursts from him. He hasn’t felt adrenaline like this since taking that fucking job at LaRusso Auto. Distantly, he knows it was stupid to run from one scene only to cause another. Does he want to get caught?</p><p>Something’s bumping against his left hip in the jacket pocket, not heavy enough to be a wallet or a phone. He slows enough to pull it out.</p><p>A fucking juul. Robby scoffs and tosses it in the grass. </p><p> </p><p>He charms his way into a ride that goes as far as Pala Mesa, which is honestly farther than he thought he’d get tonight. The driver is a friendly woman with silver box braids. She doesn’t pry too much about him, lets him stare out the window while her soft jazz music plays. She drops him off at a clean rest stop, tells him to be good and that she hopes he finds his friends.</p><p>Robby gives her a tight smile and thanks her.</p><p>It’s getting to be late afternoon. He’d long since ditched his phone at the school, not risking texts from anybody or leaving his Snapchat location on. He hopes someone cares enough to pick it up, because he really doesn’t wanna dish out money for a new one. Even if everyone fucking hates him, maybe Demetri or someone could have held on to it. </p><p>A public bus stops outside the rest stop. He hops on immediately, not caring where it takes him. He’s got an idea about the beach, just wanting to see something that’s- that’s <em> there</em>, that doesn’t fucking change. No headphones make for a ride that unfortunately leaves Robby alone with his thoughts.</p><p>Had he fought clean in that fight? The shot to Miguel’s knee wasn’t anything Mr. LaRusso taught him- </p><p>Obviously being pinned by Miguel was Cobra Kai bullshit. He’s sick of <em> no mercy </em> and he’s sick of <em> mercy </em> and he’s sick-</p><p>He tightly closes his eyes and leans his head back, wishing for the days of just him and his mom and his skateboard and shitty (but at least transparent) friends. He wishes his dad had never opened Cobra Kai and he wishes he’d never even heard of LaRusso <em> anything </em> and he wishes his dad had never taught Miguel Diaz or hugged Miguel Diaz or loved Miguel Diaz-</p><p>He wishes he hadn’t landed that <em> kick </em> on Miguel Diaz.</p><p>It’s three hours of bus stops and intermittent radio static and Top 40 music before Robby gets off in Oceanside. It’s getting dark, serving to make it easy to spot what places will have a crowd. He was Los Angeles raised, learned how to surf (painfully ignoring that his father was his first surfing instructor), had gotten drunk for the first time on the beach, had one of his first hook-ups on the beach. He knows he’ll have to walk for a while before he can find seclusion, away from bonfires and makeout hideaways.</p><p>It’s completely dark, the moon partially full but bright, by the time Robby lets himself go.</p><p>He falls down into the sand, laying out so he can look up. Light pollution makes it impossible to see many stars, so it’s just him and the half-moon. His breathing that he’s kept careful and even shudders, and he chokes on a sob, fingers digging into the sand. He hates crying- never got him anything. Wouldn’t give him explanations of why it was so long in-between visits from his dad, wouldn’t convince his mom to stay in when she wanted to go out. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but when he sits up, nose stuffed yet running (gross), his back twinges. </p><p>Could just be from the fight. That stupid fucking fight. Robby can’t even figure out if he’s mad, at least about what that Tory was mad about. So what Sam kissed Miguel? It hurt, but was he pissed? Should be expected by now: <em> Hey, Robby, I chose Miguel over you! You’ll be fine, though, right? </em></p><p>He idly swipes his hands through the sand, enjoying the way it feels running through his fingers, looking at the waves crashing. Yeah, he’ll be fine. He always is, huh? </p><p>Why he does what he does next has no explanation. One second he’s got his elbows propped on his knees, asking himself why he didn’t just corner Miguel at that fucking party, the one where he was a dick to Sam, ask him what his problem was. At the very least they could have gotten some shit out of their system before the tournament. He barely thinks about this before he’s pushing himself up, walking towards the waves.</p><p>Mr. LaRusso taught him about balance, physically and mentally. Told him about Mr. Miyagi training him by having him stand as best he can against the water. Did that help Mr. LaRusso? </p><p>The water is freezing, almost shocks Robby’s system, but he keeps going. The Pacific is rarely warm, anyway, just has prettier sands and palm trees than on the East Coast. He takes a deep breath, going just past where the water hits his bellybutton, swaying with the currents. </p><p>It’s stupid, but between the breeze and the noise of the water, the motion of it, Robby feels like he can just close his eyes and fall asleep. It’s relaxing. </p><p>What if he just… did? Closed his eyes and just went under?</p><p>The thought makes him stagger, lose his stance and he <em> does </em> go under, salt water plugging his nose, down his throat. He scrambles, forgetting not to panic, and even as he breaks surface and regains his footing, he feels it, the rollback of the waves, and he’s under again.</p><p>No one is going to think to look for him here.</p><p> </p><p>Robby Keene is going to die and fade away into West Valley High legend; the guy who broke a kid’s back, ran away, and drowned for his sins. It’s a shitty way to be remembered, but maybe he deserves it. He can no longer feel the sand to get a standing, and flails. This water is fucking cold, squeezing around him-</p><p>There’s something hauling him up from under the arms, and he weakly tries to kick. Breaking surface immediately chokes him up again, and Robby overwhelms himself by taking in too much air way too quickly. </p><p>“Man, what the fuck were you doing?”</p><p>He has no idea who’s talking, who’s holding him up, and he doesn’t care right now. As soon as he feels his feet on something solid, he drops onto the beach at his knees, coughing up water, trying to catch his breath again.</p><p>Bleary eyed, he tries to get a look at his savior. A brunet is leaning over, and Robby- Robby almost forms a thanks until he spots the Cobra Kai patch on the blue jacket. Fuck.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>.” He says, small and angry. “Who the fuck are <em> you?</em>” He doesn’t think he’s seen this guy around the dojo in the strip mall, but since when does Robby keep up with what idiots his dad’s teaching? </p><p>“Who the fuck are you? Were you trying to kill yourself? You have your shoes on.” </p><p>Robby shakes his head, not wanting to think too hard on that question. “Gonna call the cops?” He tries to stand, taking his time, a few steps away from the edge. Smartest move would be to get away from the water altogether. He vaguely notes a group of guys some ten feet away. They’re watching the scene intently. Great. If this fucker’s from Cobra Kai, he should be getting ready to get jumped. </p><p>The guy shakes his head, and moves towards Robby, who backs up immediately. “No, there’s no payphone nearby. You do something?”</p><p>His friends should have phones. Did this guy ruin his phone saving Robby’s life? That idea makes Robby feel strange, so he just scoffs. “Whatever, like you don’t know.” He’s soaked, and the grossest part of this is his fucking socks and shoes. Dumbass. </p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>“Fuck off is what it means!” Robby snaps as he turns away, putting distance between his savior (saving the enemy; gee, <em> Dad</em>, thought you preached <em> no mercy</em>) and his friends. The guy huffs and calls from behind him. </p><p>“You should get some help! Hey! I mean it!” </p><p>There’s a burst of more voices after, and because Robby has survival instincts, he gets the hell away from <em> that</em>. His body is protesting, having enough abuse today. It’s now only a matter of time before he’s picked up- a fucking <em> Cobra Kai </em> saved him, knows where he is. He runs the best he can in wet shoes, in sand, and tries to remember where he can find the bus stop.</p><p>He’s having a hard time recalling his surroundings.</p><p>He must have gotten off at a different stop. Besides, he likely took the last bus for the evening. Could he even get on the bus, soaking wet? He needs to find somewhere to dry off, but considering the fact he looks like a drowned rat, with bruises blossoming in full on his face, he doesn’t think any hospitality is meant for him in the future.</p><p>He makes an attempt in a public bathroom down the beach, maybe a fifteen minute trudge from where he almost drowned. He’s not gonna have any luck in any bathroom in town, so he walks in. The tile is cracked and there’s no hand dryer like he was shooting for, but the emptiness of the beach and the time of night allows him some privacy. He chooses the cleanest stall he can, grabbing the roll of paper towels sitting atop a trash can lid.</p><p>Slowly, Robby peels the layers off himself. Stolen jacket, t-shirt. He inspects his torso: just some bruising along his side, but not with the sting of cracked ribs. His left shoulder is probably the worst, since it was an old injury anyway. He tentatively rolls it and hisses. </p><p>He continues taking off his clothes, wringing saltwater out of them. If there was a hand dryer, he could at least speed up the process. But no, Robby’s stripped down in a public bathroom, waiting for his clothes and wet shoes to dry. The absurdity of it is enough to make him huff, but he’s so tired, and there’s nowhere to go. </p><p>So he sits perched on the toilet tank, protected by layers of paper towels, feels embarrassed for <em> nearly dying </em> and how white trash this setup feels, and waits.</p><p>He dozes on and off, jolting at any sudden sound. If the cops come and search the surrounding area, he’s fucked. They won’t arrest him without clothes on, though, right? </p><p>He’s timing himself with how dry his socks and pants get. Shoes take forever to dry out, so he can’t help that. Gives him way too much time to think; all day, he’s been able to think, and he hates it because all he can think about is Miguel, whether or not he’s dead or going to die or paralyzed or something. The railing was better than hitting the stairs, right? If Miguel would have hit the stairs straight on, he would have cracked his head. Robby doesn’t remember seeing a pool of blood under Miguel’s head, but he also can’t remember much else other than the way Miguel, a guy he was so sure he <em> hated</em>, was lying there, motionless.</p><p>What if Miguel had done the same to Robby? Would Miguel have run? Would Mr. LaRusso have cared? And where would his dad have gone? He’s probably with Miguel <em> now</em>, so who is he kidding. Robby could have been the one lying on the stairs and his dad would have gone to see Miguel in juvie. Not a hard fucking question.</p><p>He really scored the parental lottery. His mom is M.I.A., either on a bender with a loser or looking to find the next, and his dad thinks he’s not worth a chance. Robby thinks of that blue Cobra Kai jacket and wonders where the hell everybody is getting one. Miguel got his dad’s gi <em> and </em> the fucking jacket, so it isn’t hard to know who Johnny fucking Lawrence actually cares about.</p><p>Everything’s still damp when Robby puts it all back on, and his shoes are still uncomfortably gross, but it’s probably for the best that he leaves. He needs to find some place to sleep. He looks himself over in the mirror- his hair is a mess. Should he get it cut? Look different from whatever picture the cops are gonna have for him?</p><p>It’s not a bad idea, but not his top priority (sleep, food, then the runaway makeover). He could probably pass as a fucked up college kid right now, not be noticed too much. </p><p>He finally leaves the beach. Maybe that particular pack of Cobras are just stupid, or not friends with Miguel. It’s been long enough that he’s not worried about them sticking around, but that whole exchange just adds to Robby feeling on edge. He meanders along the sidewalk; everything’s closed or quiet enough in the background. It’s cool enough that he feels chilled in his damp outfit, and he fights a shiver as he stays out of the way. </p><p>He’s debating the practicality of staying out of juvie; they can’t try him as an adult, only if Miguel’s okay. He has no way of knowing that. If Miguel <em>is</em> okay, he could just turn himself in. If not… he doesn’t want to imagine a <em> prison </em> over a juvenile detention center. Neither is great, but Robby’s seen clips of <em> 60 Days In </em> and shit. He was probably on a short list for a Scared Straight program. He really doesn’t want that. He doesn’t actually want Miguel dead, either. Never did. Gone, maybe, moved to San Diego or somewhere else. Not dead, though. </p><p>One of his friends from middle school went to juvie for six weeks. Robby can’t even remember what for, but it had been the first time the guy had three meals a day. Maybe juvie <em> is </em> the best option; no parents, a truancy record as long as his arm, and nowhere to stay.</p><p>He pauses in front of a 24hr convenience store. Shit, that is a pretty good option here. He looks over at the store to see if he can spot a cashier, ask to use their phone, when he sees the newspaper dispenser. He’s never actually had to use one, but he knows, like, old people do. He grabs its sides and leans down to make sure he saw the date right.</p><p>The Los Angeles Times.</p><p>
  <em> Friday. November 16, 1984. </em>
</p><p>What the <em> fuck? </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was going to wait to post this, but since the date for the Season 3’s release got bumped up to New Year’s Day, I wanted this up before the writers room threw Robby under a bus (again). <br/>You can find me on Tumblr at spikeysanders!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. two.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>gen z kid robby keene freaking out for 11 pages in google docs.<br/>not beta read! any mistakes are mine.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Robby scares the hell out of the cashier when he goes in, disbelief fraying his movements, only adding on to his appearance of someone who has completely lost their shit. She’s a blonde with tight curls and a thick headband, which, okay, is an outdated look, but means nothing. </p><p>“Uh- can I- um,” He takes a breath, his palms forward so she doesn’t think he’s about to threaten her with a weapon or something. “Is there a phone I can use?”</p><p>She has her hands braced on the counter behind her, and shakes her head. “Um, no. I can’t let you use it. Are you…” She trails off. Her name tag reads Tina. </p><p>“I can’t use your cell phone?” He tries, and her eyebrows scrunch together. </p><p>“My what? Listen, I can… I can give you some quarters for a payphone? Are you okay?” She cautiously heads for a box underneath the counter, though even as she crouches down, she keeps her eyes on him. He’s doing his best to breathe through this, because there’s… there’s no way that <em> this</em>, the 1984 thing, the newspaper thing, is happening. </p><p>“I… no, I just need help.” Tina tentatively reaches out with some quarters for him. Robby lets her drop them into his hand, fighting the manic urge to check their year stamps. “Can you look up a police station? Please. I’m really trying to not be-”</p><p>“No, it’s fine.” Tina’s voice does not sound fine. And, to Robby’s continued horror, she doesn’t pull a smartphone from her pocket, but again reaches under the counter for a phone book.</p><p>A <em> phone book. </em> He’s losing his mind.</p><p>“Here. I’ll write it down for you.” Her voice is a little shaky, but she rips a napkin from its dispenser next to the register, and uses that to scribble down the number. He takes it, realizes he hasn’t thanked her, and does.</p><p>“No problem. The closest payphone is about three blocks that-a-way.” She jams her finger in the direction across the street. “You’re not… in trouble, are you?”</p><p>Robby has no idea what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. He just leaves, letting the little bell above the door ring in his wake. A payphone. He’s never had to use one, always just borrowed someone’s phone if he really needed to call his mom. He knows what they look like, he’s not an idiot. But he can’t even remember seeing anyone use one outside movies.</p><p>This is crazy, right? The convenience store could just have… not changed out their newspaper in about thirty years. It’s not impossible. No one reads them, not since Google happened. And the phone book thing could easily be explained- the Tina girl didn’t want him to steal her phone. He had come in looking unhinged, she didn’t want anything to happen. Understandable. </p><p>The payphone he makes it to is lit up under a streetlight, a beacon of sorts. Perhaps to regain his momentary lapse of sanity, Robby has to appeal to whatever morality he has left and turn himself in. That’s the lesson he’s facing: to run, or not to run. He obviously can’t keep doing this if he’s already on the edge of a mental break.</p><p>Fine, lesson learned. He can lose his shit within the bounds of a juvenile detention center, as long as he isn’t thinking he’s stuck in <em> 1984</em>.</p><p>He pulls out the napkin and quarters, dropping one in the slot, punching in the numbers. As he does, he tries to look for a street sign or something he can give so he can get picked up. Preferably as soon as possible. God, Robby’s actively wishing he can run into law enforcement. It’s the fucking LAPD - no one should be wishing for that.</p><p>Someone picks up on the second ring. “West Valley Community Police Station-”</p><p>“I need to turn myself in.” Robby says in a rush- if he lets the guy finish, he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve. The dry sounding voice turns firm.</p><p>“Turn yourself in? For anything in particular?”</p><p>Fuck. Is it assault? Manslaughter? Is it murder? Robby doesn’t know what the law’s going to see it as. “The fight at West Valley High today, or yesterday afternoon, um, that- that was me. I sent a guy to-” <em> The morgue. </em> “-to the hospital.”</p><p>There’s nearly a minute of silence, before the man answers him.</p><p>“Kid, there’s been no reported incidents at the high school. Is this a prank call?”</p><p>He can feel his blood chill, which is saying something, standing in the night air in wet shoes. “No! No, that can’t be right, that- Miguel Diaz should be in the hospital or something. I kicked him over a balcony, he fell- I should be in jail right now, man. This isn’t a joke, it’s not-”</p><p>“Is there a need for a welfare check, then?” The man’s tone has gone back to dry and bored, and Robby can feel his voice go up in pitch.</p><p>“<em>Miguel Diaz</em>, look him up at the hospital. Someone had to have called 911 after the fight today, <em> please</em>, you have to-”</p><p>The line disconnects. Absently, Robby feels the tears on his cheeks. He slams the phone on the receiver, once, twice, three times, before throwing his hands up to his head, pulling at his hair. He’s crying <em> again,</em> and he takes out the remaining two quarters, trying to prove something to himself. <em> 1980. 1978. </em></p><p>He wants to fucking scream.</p><p> </p><p>The thing is, Robby has always had this anger in him, and it burned. He picked fights in school because he knew he’d win, and if he didn’t, he never went down easy. He was biting with his words, with the ways he’d prove to himself he was worth having around. Robby Keene, he had connections. Get him at your party. See him if you wanted a phone, a laptop, AirPods. He can get you that; he can get you high, too.</p><p>He wanted something more, though. Wanted to mean something. Karate was supposed to give him that; for a little while, it did. </p><p>And somehow, he messed that up entirely. The more he thinks about it, because he can’t stop thinking about it, playing the fight on a loop, Robby let his anger out on Miguel, even when he wasn’t pissed at Sam. Miguel just represented everything Robby couldn’t have. He couldn’t do the Miyagi-do thing and fight for defense. </p><p>Miguel hadn’t been coming at him when he made the kick.</p><p>He’s laying on a bench, like the true vagrant he’s come to be. He’s not gonna be able to sleep long, or at all, but at this point he can’t care. </p><p>What should he do? Find Mr. LaRusso, who’s going to be a teenager? If anything, then it’ll be okay to take out that burning anger on <em> him</em>. Robby turns over this option in his head, feeling somewhat guilty and mostly justified for it, when he realizes that if <em> Mr. LaRusso’s </em> a teenager, then so is his <em> dad. </em></p><p>He can’t help the scoff that escapes him. This is that movie that all parents like, <em> Back to the Future</em>. He's pretty sure he’d take the pushover George McFly as his father over what he’s stuck with. He has no ugly car to fix his problem, either. Should he be worried about the time shit? Fucking up the future? His mom’s from Ohio anyway, so his chances of not being born are probably low. </p><p>Probably. </p><p>There’s that tournament coming up. The trophy that shone in the dojo. Robby throws an arm over his eyes.</p><p>He enjoys a sick amount of satisfaction knowing his dad’s going to lose. It’s weird how no one his age knows the details, though. Maybe if he sticks around, he can actually see it firsthand. The thought isn’t a bad one. Maybe, since he doesn’t know if the time thing will be bothered. Doesn’t even know if this is real yet, or a hallucination he’s having as he drowns in the ocean.</p><p>It should bother him how calm he is with that thought, but he’s so tired. If he wakes up tomorrow, he’ll examine those feelings. Maybe.</p><p>Before he falls asleep, he thinks <em> why does Miguel hate me anyway </em> and <em> he better not die</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Robby’s woken up a few hours later by a city worker who tells him (in that infuriating, pity fueled condescending way he knows oh-so-well) that there’s a homeless shelter five streets over, or he should call his parents if he’s a runaway. Robby’s already irritated: his clothes are mostly dry, but damp where he’d laid down, his shoulder’s killing him, so he rolls his eyes as he gets up.</p><p>“Yeah, whatever. Is there any-”</p><p>He cuts himself off: the guy’s started changing trash linings. Fuck it. He needs to find a map or something, so he can figure out an idea of what he’s going to do here. What he really needs, though, is some breakfast. He’s going to have to wait, as the sky is that melancholic grey of dawn. He rubs at his eyes, stretches his shoulders at the crosswalk. </p><p>Fifty entire cents to his name. Ain’t he fucking lucky.</p><p>Robby steals a newspaper from the steps of some mom-and-pop type diner that hasn’t opened. Same shit again. <em> Los Angeles Times. Saturday. November 17, 1984. </em> Front page says something about Salvadoran rebels. There’s an article about halfway down that goes “Equal Pay Idea Called ‘Loony’”. </p><p>The 80s feel like the Dark Ages. Lacking anything else to do, Robby spends time reading the fucking thing. It’s… weirdly cool, in a way, to look at these things as they’re written about. In the VALLEY NEWS section, there’s the headline “MURDER: Reseda Man Enters Plea of Guilty”, which makes Robby put the newspaper to his lap.</p><p>If he’s arrested, when he… gets back, will that be something like his headline? Online, of course, and reporters can’t release the names of minors, but everyone will <em> know.</em> “MANSLAUGHTER: Reseda Minor Enters Plea of Guilty”. Karate killed the kid. It’s darkly funny, mostly just dark, so Robby skips to the sports section.</p><p>Michael <em> Jordan? </em> Entranced by the idea that Michael Jordan is playing basketball and not just selling shoes, Robby’s back to a state of misplaced excitement.</p><p>He’s had enough of the paper by the time it’s a little brighter out, more yellow sun than blue early morning. He tries to straighten out the newspaper, fold it right, and taps it against his palm as he walks down the street, ducking into a tiny diner (tactfully, not the same he stole the paper from). He picks a counter seat, and an older woman gives him a small smile. Robby sees her eyes hover over his face, its scrapes and bruises.</p><p>Well. Miguel didn’t bust him up too bad, at least. “How much is a coffee?” He bounces his leg.</p><p>“Fifty cents.”</p><p>Figures. He slides the quarters across the counter, immediately plucking a couple packets of sweetener from the little tray they’re in. His eyes are roaming the walls til he sees the clock above the entrance door behind him. It’s barely past 7:30 in the morning. With a <em> here you go, sweetheart</em>, the waitress has her eyes drawn to Robby’s newspaper. She shakes her head.</p><p>“That poor baby Fae. It’s just cruel to use a baby like that for science, I think.”</p><p>Robby looks down at the article. It was about a baby girl that had one of the first ever heart transplants. They put a baboon heart into an infant. She died the day before yesterday. She was eighteen years older than Robby, and she died a month after she was born. It’s going to give him a headache to think about.</p><p>“Yeah. It is.” He agrees, distant and soft. </p><p>He dumps three sweeteners into his coffee. There’s no television set up in this place, but he quickly picks up and pays attention to the radio. Mostly just music, and he doesn’t know what he’d look for in the news other than distraction, learning what environment he’s been dropped into. A foreign heart to be rejected later.</p><p>Robby thinks about Sam. Does Mr. LaRusso really blame him? He tried to do the right thing, which he’d kind of been getting good at. It’s just not fair, to work that hard, be encouraged (“<em>I’m glad you’re part of this family.</em>”) to only be given up on like <em> that</em>.</p><p>The way Sam had cried his name seconds after Miguel fell. Unbelieving, disappointed. Broken. He liked Sam, he <em> likes </em> Sam, even. </p><p>
  <em> “She loves me!” </em>
</p><p>Why did Miguel have to have everything? Break Robby down into little pieces and live a version of the life he could have had? </p><p>He gets Robby’s dad and Sam’s affection and the fucking jacket and the gi and his <em> dad</em>. Robby could only break his back in retaliation. Who wins? Who fucking wins in that? Who’s the bad guy?</p><p>He’s been sitting in this diner long enough. It’s nearing ten past eight, and there’s a handful of other people. He hops off his seat, taking his newspaper with him when a lone older guy stops him.</p><p>“Finished with that, kid?”</p><p>Robby turns, holding up the Times. “Sure. Here.” He sets it next to the breakfast plate, eyeing the scrambled eggs with a stab of envy. The man gives him a nod. </p><p>“Thanks. You need anything?” A trade. </p><p>“Yeah, actually.” Robby puts his hands into his jacket pockets. “Do you know where Canoga Park is?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a torn page from the classifieds in his pocket, directions scrawled in its margins. He’s going to find something to eat, first, before plucking up the nerve - and energy - to find Miyagi-do. </p><p>Robby busies himself with waiting for a prime opportunity outside a little supermarket. It’s easier to take something when cashiers and stockers are too busy with the paying customers. He knows how Sam was when Tory lifted some vodka- yet, as much as he likes Sam, a <em> lot</em>, she always had money. People with money think the rules are rigid, set in stone tablets or something. Vodka and breakfast are different, obviously, but Robby’s stolen shit he didn’t technically need, too. </p><p>So maybe he should feel bad for slipping a couple snack cakes into the underside of his jacket, like the stone tablets tell him to, but he doesn’t. He holds the door for a family and slips out right after them. Maybe it’s a little too easy; no security cameras or anti-theft detectors to think about. He shreds the plastic wrapping of a Little Debbie with his teeth, shoving the chocolate into his mouth. </p><p>Not the best of meals for someone who hasn’t eaten in an entire day, but he does what he can. Robby sits in some grass and tries to calm himself. Sugar isn’t great for anxiety - thanks for the fun facts, Demetri - so he wonders if he should meditate or something. He’d freak people out if he does the complete exercise, settling just for closing his eyes and slowing his breath. It’s fine. It will be fine.</p><p>Double checking the directions, the street signs, Robby sets out. He’s fascinated and off put by the people on the street, the cars in the road. Everything is reinforcing this impossible situation- the station wagons screaming outdated, the Levis, big hair. Maybe he can’t judge too harshly on the abuse of hairspray- he used to gel his hair back like a tool.</p><p>At least he doesn’t stick out too bad. The only thing he can think of are his sneakers- Jordans, by happenstance. He has no idea when Jordans actually came out, only that the man himself played in his custom pair, first. Like any poor kid, though, he’s possessive of what he has.</p><p>Just goes to show Robby wasn’t fucking thinking when he <em> walked into the ocean. </em> He still doesn’t want to examine his thought process too thoroughly, nervous for what he could find.</p><p>The neighborhoods blend into familiar territory, and he- this is a lot. His chest constricts, like he’s underwater again, yet he keeps moving ahead. What is he expecting? What if Mr. LaRusso is training? How is he going to explain anything - what, exactly, can he say? And Robby finds himself walking up to the front of the house anyway, secretly impressed with just how much Mr. LaRusso kept everything in good shape. He doesn’t think he’ll have a chance to ever say that, though, anyway. Half of it was Robby’s ass busting for yard work. Maybe he should be proud of the-</p><p>He jumps somewhat at the noise of a passing train, runs a hand through his hair while it goes by. How likely is it that Mr. Miyagi isn’t some man of wisdom, like Robby always understood from Mr. LaRusso’s reminiscing? What’s that saying: rose-tinted glasses?</p><p>The train fades away. He takes a deep breath, knocks on the door. His tongue presses against his teeth, and he leans one way to see if he can glimpse any of those classic cars out back. </p><p>The door opens, and a short Japanese man enters the frame. Robby can feel the blood drain from his face. It’s Mr. Miyagi, looking just like the number of pictures Mr. LaRusso keeps, in his house, in the dojo.</p><p>“Can I help you?” Mr. Miyagi asks, patient. Robby opens his mouth, closes it, before shaking his head.</p><p>“Uh- are you- I’m sorry. I had heard… karate? I had heard about a karate teacher- a <em> sensei-</em>” He is <em> completely incoherent.</em> Miyagi seemingly takes this in stride, smiling softly. </p><p>“Must have heard from Daniel-san. I take no students right now, but-”</p><p>“No, that’s fine, I’m not sure- I wasn’t thinking.” Robby looks around, not entirely in the manner of a sane person. The mention of Mr. LaRusso sent his heart plummeting to rest in the pit of his stomach. He fucked up. Somehow he knows he fucked up and he shouldn’t be here. Mr. Miyagi passed away in 2011 and he doesn’t- Robby feels like this is almost sacrilegious. But that’s ridiculous- Miyagi is just a man, who found a family with Mr. LaRusso, right? Why does this feel so-</p><p>“You fight?” Miyagi asks, gesturing to Robby’s face. He has the decency to feel embarrassed.</p><p>“Yes- I didn’t- I didn’t mean to. I tried to defend myself, but I think I… hurt the other guy, more than I wanted.” Robby deflates with the confession, unsure of why he was able to admit to this so easily. “Um, I’m sorry for bothering you-” </p><p>“Mister Miyagi! I caught a fly again, d’ya wanna see?” A terribly thick Jersey accent bounces off the inside walls of the house, and a flicker of irritance passes over Miyagi’s face. Robby wants to <em> die</em>.</p><p>Because while it’s younger, higher, he knows that voice.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. Thank- thank you, Mister Miyagi.” Robby turns away before anyone or anything can stop him, and it takes everything in him to not break into a sprint. He does turn to look back, though - big mistake - to spot a familiar headband, a tan, scrawny teenager next to Mr. Miyagi.</p><p>He’s such an idiot.</p><p> </p><p>Robby takes the (genuine or not) advice the city worker had given him that morning and finds himself at a shelter. </p><p>It’s not the first time he’s been to one. The first and last was when he was about seven and his mom had been evicted. They were able to save most of their stuff, and they only stayed a few nights, but they had to go to a separate wing. His mom was a single mom with a kid, so there were precautions to take. He doesn’t remember too much, just that it was kind of loud, even at night, his mom didn’t sleep at night just to be sure none of their stuff was stolen. They did have hot meals that didn’t taste half bad, though.</p><p>He doesn’t know if his mom had ever called his dad during that whole eviction. </p><p>He has to fill out a short form, which the lady behind the glass slides to him on a clipboard.</p><p>“Do you have any ID on you?” She asked. Her reading glasses were teal, perched on the tip of her nose.</p><p>“No, I don’t. Is that-”</p><p>“That’s okay, hon. Are you eighteen?” And then she eyes him over those teal rims, and he shrugs.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>She obviously doesn’t believe him, and he fills out the form as vaguely as possible. There had been a couple of guys outside smoking, and there’s one in the lobby area fiddling with the Coke machine. </p><p>“Robert Swayze?” She asks, grabbing two other scraps of paper. “Are you-”</p><p>“No relation.” Robby quickly amends; he thought it would be funny, the 1980s heartthrob having his peak right now. Or close to now. He’s only seen <em> Dirty Dancing </em> a couple times, and doesn’t know when that came out. It’s a dorky middle name in the first place, but cool for a surname.</p><p>“Alright.” She holds the two papers, the size of credit cards, to him. “One is to make sure you get a bed assignment. The other is in case you want to receive clothes or shoes.”</p><p>He takes them, tucking them in the chest pocket of his jacket. “Where would I get clothes?”</p><p>“There’s an office down the hall. We launder the clothes and separate them out by sizes. You can probably find something in the morning, after seven. You give that card to the man in charge, and he’ll find you something. Same thing goes for the beds: you have to show your card at the door. Any questions?”</p><p>Robby asks where the showers and stuff are. She calls a different worker down, a tall Hispanic man who looks to be in his late twenties. He directs Robby to the showers, giving him a clean towel, and warns him about having money on him in here. That’s actually one problem Robby doesn’t need to worry about.</p><p>His sneakers do get a once over. Robby’s going to have to get a different pair for sure, which kinda breaks his heart. He’d actually bought those with one of his LaRusso Auto checks. Though he attended high school as more of a special guest appearance, it was such a huge deal for guys there to have Jordans, or at least any other Nike or Adidas release. </p><p>There’s hotel level shampoo and soap, and the shower handle is broken under the head he chose. It’s stuck on a lukewarm setting, but he’s getting clean, free of that brine smell. </p><p>He missed dinner, but a kitchen worker sees one of his cards and gets him a cellophane wrapped ham and cheese sandwich, hands him a juice box. He really does feel like a kid, sitting in the hall eating by himself, and that’s really what he is. Not entirely because of his age, just for the fact he’s in a world with barely any concept of how to live in it.</p><p>Going to Miyagi’s was… not the brightest idea, but it’s all he has. Hearing Mr. LaRusso’s voice, albeit teenage, just reminded him that he really can’t pin all his hopes on an adult. He really can’t- there hadn’t been any adult in his corner. Maybe Mrs. LaRusso, but even he could notice how karate was wearing on her. There really isn’t <em> anyone </em> in his corner, adult or otherwise. Makes him know his place, that’s for sure.</p><p>He sleeps in the cafeteria, which is converted into sleeping arrangements with mats that remind him of elementary gym class, and doesn’t speak to anybody. Again, he thinks of Miguel before bed <em> (that fucking idiot better be in the hospital) </em> and tries to sleep for a few hours.</p><p> </p><p>Sunday is spent getting new-to-him clothes (a pair of jeans, two shirts, and a change of socks) and Robby even scores a backpack. The shelter has a policy of most of the residents staying out until dinner, which is fine with him. He just has to make a conscious effort to stay away from Reseda for today. Tomorrow’s a different story.</p><p>He steals a pair of Converse and does a shit job of not drawing attention to himself when the teenage employee catches him and chases him down the street. Juvie is already a looming threat, and he certainly doesn’t need a juvie that will have no record of his existence. Robby unlaces his Jordans and has to give them an unceremonious funeral in a dumpster. It fucking sucks.</p><p>The same lady is at the glass protected desk again when he arrives for dinner. He goes up to her with a smile he hopes is charming, but only serves to make her raise her eyebrows.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>Robby leans over. “Do you know how I can get to West Valley High from here?”</p><p>She crosses her arms. “You said you were eighteen. It’ll take a Child Services rep for you to get enrolled if you’re going to be staying here-”</p><p>“That’s not it, I promise. I have… I want to see if my aunt still works there. If she can help me out. If not, whatever.” To his ears, it’s a solid lie, and she seems to believe him, too. </p><p>“Alright, let me write you the directions.” She writes in neat cursive on a legal pad, having pulled out a phone book for the school’s address. He’d been hoping for a map, but he’ll probably need to find a gas station for one, though that’d likely be road maps only. How did people not get lost all the fucking time?</p><p>He puts the paper in his bag, thanks her, and heads for dinner. One of his tablemates is reading the newspaper, and Robby trades his dessert for a read through. He still finds some odd enjoyment in reading active history, which is funny, considering he was that kid that was annoying as fuck or sleeping in the back of history class.</p><p>Royally fucked up the chance to better himself as a student there, but that’s fine. He returns the paper and takes a shower, all the while trying to plot out how tomorrow should go. West Valley High, check out what the fuck Mr. LaRusso and his dad were like in high school. Why don’t they really talk about the tournament, at least past the stupid crane kick?</p><p>Apparently Miguel had performed the same move at their tournament. Robby expects nothing less from his dad. Well, it’s not like <em> he </em> isn’t petty, keeping the fact that Miguel returned Mr. Miyagi’s Medal of Honor from Sam. Because of course, the golden boy has to be just that.</p><p>He uses his new backpack as a pillow.</p><p>Robby wakes up early enough to shower and change; the Levis need to be cuffed and the red polo makes him kinda look like a douchebag, but with the denim jacket, it looks pretty nice. He still wants to cut his hair, though; despite everything, he thinks he’s allowed some vanity, some desire to change how he looks. </p><p>Getting to the school isn’t too bad, since he leaves the shelter as parents are driving their kids there, even spotting a school bus on his walk. He thinks he’s going to hang around til closer to lunch, maybe a free period. Try to get caught up in a crowd instead of being singled out by any administration.</p><p>Though, name the last time a public school <em> actually </em> kept track of their students. </p><p>He probably looks like a fucking creep when he makes it to campus, sticking to the fence around it. Students come in with headphones around their neck, with perms and mullets and popped collars. Robby ignores some pointed looks he gets: whether positive reactions or not, it’s weird. These girls walking past him are, like, his mom’s age. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but scrunches his nose at the motorbikes out front.</p><p>What dickheads ride <em> those </em> to school?</p><p>Robby meanders through the spill of kids in the hallways, splitting off when classrooms start filling up. This is familiar territory; he just needs a bell schedule and he’d be set. For now, he discovers the library- it's early enough in the day for the librarian to not be in yet, so he sets himself up in a back corner to think.</p><p>He has no actual, concrete plan. He’s run through different scenarios in his head (had most of Sunday to do that) and he’s certain he can’t avoid Mr. LaRusso forever in this. Because Robby does want to know why that harbored animosity is there, why whenever his dad and his sensei speak to each other, it’s like… like the words substitute physical blows until they can get to them. He remembers what Mr. LaRusso said about Cobra Kai’s old sensei: <em> a bad teacher. </em> Kreese. He’s debating checking out the old dojo.</p><p>However, he absolutely does <em> not </em> want to run into his dad. He’s barely giving leeway for Mr. LaRusso; Robby just wants to <em> observe</em>. He can probably get away with that. Maybe.</p><p>Robby gets in a good nap (nights at the shelter are loud; guys snoring and opening food and talking) before a student literally trips over him. She apologizes and cringes when Robby pops the crick out of his neck.</p><p>“Do you know what period it is?” He asks, shrugging on his backpack.</p><p>“It’s third. If you have gym next period, you should probably play it safe and get to the field.” She gives him a sweet smile and he returns it. He’s barely down the hall when he realizes he doesn’t know where the fuck he’s going. He’s trying not to make too much noise in the halls either, but decides that’s not too bad when so many of them are open air. Fucking weird setup.</p><p>Robby has to hop a fence to get to the school’s field, because he can’t figure out the hallways. He dumps his bag on the bleachers, figures if he can’t spot two idiots he’ll head back inside. </p><p>He should start a book if he’s going to be spending his days doing this. The last book he read for fun was part of <em> Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda</em>, which he had to cut short because Cruz kept asking if he was a homo. It had been really good; he just wished he’d finished it. Now, Robby may not know much about the 1980s, but he’s pretty fucking sure there won’t be a book in the school library (or public) that’s anything like the Simon book. It <em> is </em> California, though, so-</p><p>He starts paying attention once more students start coming out. He is here to watch, which is weird out of context, but he feels somewhat better when another student picks a seat, away from him on the bleachers, and takes out a textbook. Okay, good. Robby can get away with this. He relaxes, leaning on the metal row behind him as he scans the field.</p><p>He spots Mr. LaRusso, easily. Wearing a cut off sweatshirt and sweatpants, messing around with a soccer ball. A pretty girl wearing the green school colors comes up behind him, says something. He turns with a grin, and she goes off to a group practice. </p><p>Robby looks around, wonders why Mr. LaRusso (can he seriously keep thinking of him as that, when honestly, he looks like he’s fourteen?) isn’t practicing with the guys on the soccer field. They’re just doing warmups now, but-</p><p>Robby sits straight up, frowning. There’s a blond senior-type, broad with pure muscle and wearing a gym shirt with the sleeves cut off. He kicks a goal with perfect form, and jogs off, laughing at what a buddy in line said.</p><p>It’s his fucking dad. </p><p>He can’t just run every time he sees his dad. It’s too easy, and would also make eyes go to him if he just ditched a class period. In general, he tries not to run from his dad- after all, Johnny Lawrence is the one that does the running. Robby always made that a point, like when his dad came to the apartment after getting that call from his school: make him leave, see how easy it is for him to turn his back on his son.</p><p>Robby watches him practice with a set to his jaw, willing the powers that be that his dad slips up with the ball, eats total shit on the field, but it’s not meant to be. He does catch some instances that his dad looks over in Mr. LaRusso’s direction, which makes complete sense. He’s always tracked Mr. LaRusso like that, as if he needs to calculate what move is next. Robby had picked up the same habit when sharing any space with Miguel. Gauge your opponent, size them up.</p><p>Mr. LaRusso only looks towards Robby’s dad about twice; his dad, in turn, did it five times for the 45 minute period. Is he that paranoid? About <em> what? </em></p><p>He’s thoroughly irritated by the time whistles blow. He and the other gym class stragglers make it off the bleachers, brushing past kids going to the locker room. He waits until he can see that Mr. LaRusso (Daniel? That just sounds strange.) is inside. He knows his dad is still on the field, so he gets swept up in the students going in. Apparently, it’s the first period set aside for lunch, so it’s easy enough to find a spot outside and sit down on the ground, back against the wall. Never has he wanted his phone and the escape of Spotify so bad. What are the things he saw the students with headphones earlier? Are those Walkmans? You put tapes in those, right?</p><p>Fish out of water. He needs a manual.</p><p>He thinks about what book he can possibly be interested in reading that’s pre-2000, and Robby is weighing his options of taking a book (that he’ll return) or seeing if he can try his luck at the public library (where he will also return any book he may take) when someone nudges him with a shoe. He shoots up faster than he’s ever moved before.</p><p>Daniel LaRusso throws his hands up. “I come in peace, man.” </p><p>Robby instinctively takes a step back, like he did with the guy on the beach. “What do you want?”</p><p>Is he- is <em> Mr. LaRusso </em> wearing <em> camo jeans? </em></p><p>“Y’know, I could be asking you the same thing.” Mr. LaRusso - Daniel - crosses his arms, too confident for a guy wearing an orange t-shirt, red flannel and camouflage. “You’re the guy that showed up at my sensei’s house. He told me he’d never seen you before.” </p><p>Robby breathes through his nose, trying to think on the spot, because having a <em> plan </em> and being confronted in the moment are completely separate. “I just heard about a Miyagi teaching karate. I wasn’t thinking anything through- I don’t need- I don’t need karate. At least not now.”</p><p>His now-young mentor disturbingly looks like his middle aged counterpart as he takes this in, finally nodding. “Fine. I’m Daniel LaRusso, by the way.” He holds out his hand. Robby doesn’t take it.</p><p>“Rob- Robby Swayze.” God, that sounds stupid. Now he’s committed. His sensei’s eyebrows shoot up. </p><p>“Oh-”</p><p>“No, I’m not related.” Robby shifts his weight, and sighs. “You’re Mr. Miyagi’s only student then?” He asks, knowing the answer. Mr. LaRusso shrugs, a bit smug. </p><p>“Yeah, still kinda new. Long story- apparently Mr. Miyagi only teaches for defense, not like, he only teaches defensive moves, I know offense, but like, philosophy wise, ya know? And I need some defense, man. What about you? Someone musta busted your chops. You looked spooked when you left.”</p><p>
  <em> Because the last I saw you, you were tearing into me about how I’d broken your trust and wanted nothing to do with me. </em>
</p><p>Some of Robby’s inherent anger simmers, but he squeezes the strap of his bag. “It’s complicated. I took a fight too far. I’m… fine now. He’s fine.” He looks to the fairly trafficked hall, and eyes catch someone on the opposite end. Fuck.</p><p>It isn’t his dad, thank fucking God, but Robby had been trying to place a guy on the soccer field all during practice, and now he remembers. The brunet from the beach, the one in the blue Cobra Kai jacket that pulled him out of the water.</p><p>He’s wearing some pastel t-shirt now, and his hair is styled out when dry, but it’s him. He seems to also have him pinned the second they catch gazes. Robby has got to get out of here.</p><p>“Uh, I gotta go, Mist- Daniel.” He tries to make a break, before the brunet catches up to him, but his stupid, naive sensei grabs his jacket, recognizing the guy, too.</p><p>“Hey, wait a minute- Bobby? The hell you doin’?” Mr. LaRusso continues his confident bravado (despite being pretty short, and again, <em> scrawny</em>) by hardening his gaze at this <em> Bobby</em>.</p><p>“Oh, come on, Daniel. This has nothing to do with you-” Bobby turns to Robby, who fights a flinch. “Are you alright? I really wasn’t trying to scare you-”</p><p>“We don’t need to talk about it, okay?” Robby rushes, because this virtual stranger has seen him at a moment he doesn’t even want to think about. “If you want me to thank you-”</p><p>“That’s not what I want! I’m actually concerned, ‘cause you seemed-”</p><p>Daniel tries to put himself between them. “Okay, okay, what’s going-” </p><p>Both Bobby and Robby snap at Daniel to shut up. Robby huffs, and strains a smile. </p><p>“See, I’m fine. No need to play the hero. Besides, that’s not what Cobra Kai teaches, anyway.”</p><p>Mr. LaRusso’s eyes widen, and Bobby flinches back like he was slapped. “Excuse me?”</p><p>Robby shrugs his shoulders, his heart thundering. “Please. No mercy, right? Don’t act like it doesn’t shock me one of you cares about someone else’s shit.” He effectively puts space between him and this Bobby, getting ready for a break.</p><p>Bobby squares his shoulders. “Listen, asshole, I don’t know how you know about-”</p><p>“Bobby! What are you doing talking to some shrimp?” </p><p>Oh, absolutely <em> not</em>, no. Not today, or tomorrow, or the next. Robby feels like someone tossed him back in the freezing Pacific. His dad observes him with barely a once over - <em> what fucking else is new </em> - and turns smug when setting sight on Mr. LaRusso. He doesn’t stick around for anyone to say anything else- fuck not running, he turns around and shoves people out of the way. </p><p>Behind him, he can hear Mr. LaRusso’s pitched teenage voice. “What the hell did you do to him? Is this a <em> thing-</em>”</p><p>This was probably the worst possible outcome to his flimsy planning. So much for being an observer.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The newspaper article I allude to: https://latimes.newspapers.com/image/390263734/?terms= </p><p>and for my next trick i will pepper in the (head)canon of robby not being straight.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. three.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: discussion of suicidal thoughts and behaviors</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>if you wanna end up like him- </em>
</p><p>Mr. LaRusso had seen Robby’s greatest fear and thrown that in his face. To end up like his father would ruin him, and he had fought his entire life to be someone else. Pretend like he didn’t have a dad, pretend he was someone else’s son. That’s what drove him to LaRusso Auto in the first place- show his dad how easy it could be to find a replacement. Except it wasn’t.</p><p>Except, as much as Robby tells himself he hates his dad, he doesn’t. He hates a lot of things about him, but has always held on to the naive hope that his dad will show up for him, in a not-half-assed way. They’d been given a good start, a good try, and then-</p><p>And it all blew up in his face.</p><p>He resents his dad, wishes he was different, but despite his efforts, he can’t hate him. It makes everything that much harder, honestly. </p><p>Robby has to throw out the “observer” approach. Obviously, he can’t really make that work now that Mr. LaRusso has him on the radar, and that he’s pissed off this Bobby guy. He probably has to accept he can’t ignore his dad, either. He can damn sure try. </p><p>There’s about two minutes where Robby’s convinced he can make it <em> home </em> if he gets far enough away from his dad. He can just about believe that, making it out of the school, before he hears footfalls on the pavement behind him. He’s barely just turned around when he gets pinned against the chainlink. </p><p>He thrashes in Bobby’s hold. “Get the fuck-”</p><p>“Okay, okay, calm down. See?” Bobby holds up his hands, and Robby looks immediately for any other Cobra Kai. No one’s following him out of school. Good. Bobby still won’t get out of his way, and Robby so badly wants to throw a hit at him. </p><p>“Don’t worry about Johnny or anyone. I told them I could handle myself.”</p><p>Robby scoffs, shifting uncomfortably. “So do you wanna kick my ass? I meant what I said.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, that’s another thing. I still just want to know how you are. It’s Robby, right?”</p><p>What a self-righteous dick. He hates being asked about how he is, tried to get used to it under the LaRusso roof, felt like a stupid question then, feels like a stupid question now. </p><p>“I’m fine. You can move now.” Robby slips past him, feeling braver than he probably should. “Don’t have to worry about me. Not gonna- drown myself, or whatever. You can have a clear conscience.” He wasn’t trying to kill himself, or he didn’t <em> think </em> he was trying to kill himself. He was just wanting some clarity, and he’s trying, or at least trying to think of how he can find clarity here. There’s gotta be an answer on how to get <em> back. </em> </p><p>Bobby continues to step towards him. Persistent- why does he <em> care </em> so much? How can his dad have a friend like this? Robby doesn’t trust it. “Are you sure I can’t help? At all?”</p><p>“Why? How come you’re the one that helped me out, out of all your friends at the beach? Doesn’t that bother you that they didn’t-”</p><p>“What is your <em> deal? </em> You don’t even know them- besides, it was a split second thing. One minute we’re just having a bonfire-'' Robby can’t remember seeing a fire. Had he been that out of it? “-and the next, I saw you. I noticed it before anyone else, that’s it. Trust me, no one on that beach would have let you drown.” Bobby’s regarding him with somewhat of a glare, searching him for some valid reason he’d basically just thrown all his Cobra buddies under the bus. </p><p>Fine. “Sorry. I just… I’ve heard about Cobra Kai. Not the biggest fan.” And the guy actually winces, looks put on the spot.</p><p>“Yeah, I know. I’m sure Daniel’s told you, and trust me, none of that should have happened. That’s not- that’s not what Cobra Kai means, I swear.” </p><p>Robby’s shoulder begs to differ. What’s this Kreese like that his spell lingered on long and strong enough for his dad to reopen the dojo, reinstate a stupid rivalry? “Right, sure.” He recalls Mr. LaRusso - <em> Daniel’s </em> face, the fading of a black eye. Mostly healed, but Robby isn’t stupid. “You guys do that to Daniel’s eye?”</p><p>Bobby sighs, looks around behind him. “Look, whatever Daniel’s told you- it’s the truth, yeah, but I gotta say, it’s just competitive fun. If anything gets out of hand it’s because-” He immediately cuts himself off with a humorless laugh. “You’re just stalling answering about yourself.”</p><p>He really isn’t, now that his interest has been piqued. He’s pretty sure he knows the answer: <em> because of Johnny Lawrence. </em>Halfass everything unless it has to do with LaRusso. “Not much to say. I don’t want anything. I was actually leaving.” </p><p>Bobby shrugs. “Fine. But listen, don’t worry about anybody- they don’t know it’s you I helped out.”</p><p>God, Robby hasn’t even thought of that, and is suddenly grateful for this- this random Cobra Kai stranger. Doesn’t even want to think about what his dad would likely say to hearing about some dude wanting to drown. “Oh, um, thanks. Really.”</p><p>He gets an easy nod in response. “I gotta get going, but if you ever want to, why not check out the dojo? Sensei Kreese makes you feel invincible. It could… help, you know. If you need it.”</p><p>Terrifyingly, it almost makes sense. Robby wouldn’t have batted an eye if he didn’t know what fucked up mindset had to be behind the original Cobra Kai. He hesitates. “Maybe.”</p><p>Bobby smiles. “Cool. I’ll let you ditch now.” He heads back inside. Robby turns on his heel, mulling over the idea of stepping into Cobra Kai, like, on <em> purpose. </em> He could see his dad as a student, which sends a thrill through him that he can’t fight. He knows his dad is good, won the two years prior to Mr. LaRusso, and he does kind of want to see him in action.</p><p>He also wants to see his dad inevitably get his ass kicked. </p><p><br/>If he’s going to have to hang around a school, he really should pick up a book. Robby does his best to figure out where a public library would be, but the only one people seem to point out to him is in East Los Angeles. He figures he can borrow one from the school next time he’s in, ‘cause like hell he’s going back now. Bobby somewhat grounded him, surprisingly. Reminded Robby that he’s here to get some understanding. </p><p>He spends the next couple hours being a degenerate. He needs some better hygiene products, and he’s grateful for the backpack despite the higher chances he’d be looked at more closely. Robby saves his ass by going up to the store clerk and asking for a job application. He tosses it as soon as he’s out of sight. He loiters around a music store, genuinely interested in vinyls. His mom kept a record player for a little bit when he was about 5 or 6. There had been a Christmas album she played every year. </p><p>Everyone who watches <em> Stranger Things </em> laments the death of music after this decade, which Robby kind of gets and disagrees with at the same time. He hasn’t even heard of many of these artists, and predictably is drawn to the Metallica vinyl on display. Brand new album, huh? He can feel himself smiling like a moron.</p><p>“Looking for something?” </p><p>Robby turns to see a guy in an ugly green polyester vest, with a bright yellow name tag. He recognizes the tone of voice as that of a proding employee making sure their shit isn’t getting cased. He shrugs. “Just looking. Where would I, uh, buy a Walkman?”</p><p>The employee eases up from him somewhat. “Any RadioShack, I think. There’s a few stores in the mall- did you want to buy some tapes, then?”</p><p>Robby shakes his head. “Nah, not today. Maybe next time.”</p><p>He leaves without having taken anything. He might just browse again; it’s like the newspaper, witnessing history unfold. The Walkman thing… he does miss music. He doesn’t exactly know what he would do with one, though, or what tapes he’d have to steal. There’s also the shelter- he’ll have to keep a low enough profile as is, now that Robby got ahold of some decent shampoo and toothpaste. He has no idea what a Walkman would do, if it’s the equivalent of a MacBook or something.</p><p>The shelter worker at the desk asks him if he had any luck finding his aunt. “Ah, no. I got a job application, though.” </p><p>Robby has an unbearable need to be praised. He wishes he didn’t. Dinner is beef stew, and the same tablemate lets him read the paper, no dessert trade needed. </p><p>He actually gets a decent, hot shower in before bed call. Laying there on his mat, hair damp against his backpack working as his pillow, he wonders who’s looking for him, if anyone is. If Robby Keene has disappeared off the face of the earth, is Sam gonna care? Demetri, Chris? Mr. LaRusso? His dad?</p><p>Miguel, if Miguel’s okay, is probably gonna be grateful Robby’s gone for good. He can safely remain the golden boy, best Cobra student. Robby does hope Miguel will be able to fight again, if everything turns out alright. It’d be a waste of talent. </p><p>He doesn’t think about why he’d compliment the same guy whose neck he was out for. </p><p><br/>Robby sticks around after breakfast to get laundry done. The worker just tells him he has to wait in the hall, further cementing that Robby needs a book, literally anything to occupy him. </p><p>“Would it be a stupid idea to bring a Walkman in here?” He asks the worker, when he’s tired of counting ceiling tiles. The man pops his head out of the room.</p><p>“Kid, there’s guys in here with their own radios. All the other residents hate them, but we have a no tolerance policy for fighting. Gets their privileges revoked and you’d have to sleep somewhere else. But, say you walk down the street from here…” He trails off. Robby gets the idea. </p><p>“Right. Sorry.”</p><p>He stays quiet for maybe ten minutes before asking another likely stupid question. “Can I get a haircut around here?”</p><p>He can hear the guy shuffling around laundry baskets, before leaning in the frame. “Would you volunteer your folding services if you want me to answer that question?”</p><p>Robby agrees. Folding laundry is easier than sanding a fucking deck, painting fences. He has to separate items by size, then put them in baskets for t-shirts or jeans. Socks have their own, too. Dress shirts and dress pants for job interviews have to be ironed, but he doesn’t have to worry about that today. He’s grateful to be kept busy.</p><p>“Why do you want a haircut?” The guy asks. He has thick Roman numerals tattooed on the side of his forearm. Robby remembers his job application from the record store.</p><p>“I have to turn in a few job applications. I don’t want to look like a… hippie. Or something.” He’s a decade or two behind, and grimaces to the Chargers shirt he’s folding. The guy snorts.</p><p>“I think we can set something up. Best to do it before everyone gets in for dinner.”</p><p>So Robby’s actually allowed to have lunch here, and gets his haircut in a corner of the cafeteria that hasn’t been set up for the dinner. The barber is the same tall Hispanic that showed him the showers the first night. Apparently, the shelter will allow haircuts for things like job interviews and whatnot. He asks for some length up top to be kept.</p><p>“I know what I’m doing.” Is all he gets in response, which is fair. He can feel the goosebumps raise on his neck once it’s all done. Nervous, he asks if he can go check it in the bathroom. </p><p>When Robby sees himself in the mirror, he finally feels like he’s in control. He doesn’t look like a different person (does he want to be?) yet it’s enough of a change that he feels good. There’s some fringe that falls into his face, so he can style it back if he wants.</p><p>It’s a change he’s happy with. Superficial or not, he feels like he’s not faltering on the wheel for the first time since he’s gotten here.</p><p>He has a shot at balance.</p><p><br/>Since Robby has to make a show of leaving for those exaggerated job applications, he changes his shirt into a plain black one, grabs his bag, and starts off for the high school. He mainly wants the library. If he runs into Mr. LaRusso again, fine. He might try asking what exactly happened with these Cobra Kai, with his dad. Otherwise, he figures he can be in and out. Maybe… maybe he can see Kreese’s Cobra Kai after? </p><p>It’s a thought that makes his stomach clench. </p><p>He waits around for a while, trying to get a sense of a time, waiting for a bell, when he gets impatient enough to walk through the doors into empty hallways. The clock fixated on the wall is close to two o’clock. He ducks into the library as the bell sounds.</p><p>Robby says hello to the librarian and goes for the stacks, with no idea what he’s going to find or look for. He can hear students out in the hall, shuffling along, and he turns down another aisle. What could he feasibly accomplish reading? Probably nothing Jane Austen.  </p><p>Students are milling around, setting up study groups at tables. Robby pretends to be interested in a book about Germany in the late 1920s. Someone passes by him, and he retreats to one of the shelves near the back, where there are honest to God <em> typewriters </em> collecting dust on built-in desks. They look like old computer keyboards, just fat with a unit for the paper to be run through on top. It’s so fucking weird. </p><p>He grabs another random book, reading its cover. One of those cheap looking fantasy paperbacks, but he flips through it and it seems easy enough to get through. Not like he has many hobbies or a job taking up his time anymore. </p><p>He’s just unzipped the front pocket of his backpack when he sees the flash of a red jacket, brain short circuiting to that 80s themed roller rink party- <em> Miguel? </em></p><p>Miguel is not a tall blond senior who is leaning against the bookcase, lips in a line, sizing him up. </p><p>Johnny Lawrence gives him that half-grin, the one Robby does that makes him look too much like, well, <em> Johnny. </em> Dad.</p><p>“You read?” Is what leaves Robby’s mouth, because his knuckles are turning white, clenched against the paperback. He’s not going to run. He’ll find his footing here, find his balance-</p><p>“Not really, don’t have time for all that. I was going to catch a nap, but then I recognized you.” He takes a step towards him, and Robby can’t quite place why his dad keeps looking at him like that, as if he’s watching the end sequence to a movie and is trying to pay attention to every detail. Oh.</p><p>His grandmother. Robby has one singular photograph of Laura Lawrence, and even his mom admitted he had a lot of her looks, her blue-green eyes. He wants to break contact solely for that, but he doesn’t.</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“So, it takes a lot to rile up Bobby. I’m surprised he didn’t beat the shit out of you.”</p><p>Robby shrugs. “We talked it out. Not that hard.”</p><p>His dad frowns. Right. The concept <em> would </em> be lost on him. “Cobras don't talk it out. What’d you do to him, anyway? Something to do with LaRusso?” The tone of voice grows a little more stern, crackling with excitement. Robby shakes his head.</p><p>“I don’t even know the guy. He came up and just started talking at me.” His dad’s searching for any chance to get at Mr. LaRusso. So pathetic. </p><p>This answer must make sense to his dad, because he leans back a bit. “The twerp does that. Gets into a lot of trouble because of it. Whatever.” </p><p>Robby thinks that means this weird little confrontation must be over, because he would really like to be left alone now, but his dad cuts him off as he tries to get around him. “Hey, you’re not… in karate are you? I think we’ve met before. I kick your ass at a tournament?”</p><p>That’s absurd, and opens up a line of thought too complicated. “No, I don’t do karate anymore.” </p><p>“Anymore?” The idea that someone would give up karate seems lost to his dad, whose frankly startling youthful face crumples in confusion. “Why the fuck would you give that up, huh? Was your sensei a perv?”</p><p>“Jesus Christ, no. No, that’s not it at all.” Good to know this fucking loser’s never had any tact. “I hurt someone.”</p><p>Johnny - his infuriating father - can only shrug. “If they’re the enemy, that’s what happens.”</p><p>Enemy. Right. Rival for his father, who is standing oblivious in front of him. Robby sets his jaw. “I broke a guy’s back. You can kill someone from that.” </p><p>That seems to do it, his dad’s eyes widening. Robby pushes past him. “Good luck on your training.” </p><p>
  <em>You’re gonna fucking need it.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>see the haircut was a Narrative choice not because robby just looks better with it-</p><p>I apologize for me changing the chapter count; I’m trying to outline everything and I believe 10 chapters will fit what I have planned. I also wanted to update before Season 3 officially comes out, so if this feels rushed, I’m sorry. I have a lot of anxiety about the future of Robby’s character and relationship with his dad. It’s gonna be a roller coaster, that’s for sure! Happy New Years, everyone.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. four.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: references to suicide</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As soon as Robby locates the boys room, he throws up in one of the stalls.</p><p>It’s disgusting and mostly acidic bile that burns his throat, and he slumps against the wall to breathe for a minute. This is just <em> great, </em> definitely not a side effect of speaking to a younger, cockier version of the worst excuse for a father. He idly thumps the back of his head against the tiled wall. He needs to pull himself together. </p><p>At least he keeps his toothbrush and toothpaste in his bag. It’s a weird time to think that having all his shit in his backpack is a perk. </p><p>He brushes his teeth in a public school bathroom, which is not the first time, except this time he hasn’t snuck in vodka in a flask as a freshman. Now there’s an idea- Robby can just do a shot every time he has to deal with Mr. LaRusso and his dad.</p><p>He seriously thinks about it. Probably not a smart move- slightly tipsy, self-loathing, with his own personal suicide watch? His stomach clenches around the thought; <em> God. I’m not suicidal. </em></p><p><em> I’m not suicidal, </em> Robby thinks. <em> I just don’t have anything or anybody. </em> </p><p>He fucks off to find a spot on campus to read.</p><p> </p><p>Robby’s school counselors had a favorite philosophy: he wasn’t stupid, he just didn’t want to try. It’s not that Robby thinks he’s stupid, and he does want to try, but he still mouths words to himself when reading, still uses his hands to count for multiplication. Tests were terrible, as he always finished right before the end of time. He wasn’t dyslexic or anything (knew a couple classmates that were) he just went slower pace than anyone else. It pissed him off; quick to anger and impatience were his inheritance from dear old dad.</p><p>So it takes him a while to get through the first chapter of this silly little fantasy book (he wonders if Demetri would like it) and Robby has to dog ear the page once the bell rings. He taps the book against his thigh, coming out from his place, tucked behind a set of lockers, scanning the crowd.</p><p>Still bothers him he has girls who can literally be his <em> mother </em> than eye him for longer than necessary.</p><p>He hears Mr. LaRusso - Daniel, whatever, he’ll get used to that - before he sees him.</p><p>“-and it’s like, kind of about this weird theory that’s insane: reptilian people that are on our planet, for real. People believe this, alright? There’s published articles that get published by actual professors. Crazy! But in the show it’s taken a step further, ‘cause these reptiles are literal aliens-”</p><p>Robby knows he has no context, but he has a hard time believing the girl at Daniel’s left cares about this conversation. Thankfully (not really) Daniel catches his eye before he can carry on. “Oh! Mister Robby Swayze, here. Hey, Susan-”</p><p>Susan breaks off from Daniel as soon as the opportunity is presented. He doesn’t seem at all surprised. “Well, that’s Susan.” Just as fluid, he falls into step with Robby. </p><p>“The haircut’s a little Rob Lowe, I gotta tell ya, man, but it’s a good look. I’m just curious- do you like it here at school? Any specific crowd giving you trouble?” Daniel’s not exactly subtle with what he’s asking. Come to think of it, Mr. LaRusso was always a little heavy handed. Somehow still vague enough to sound mysterious, profound.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Daniel hums. “Interesting, interesting… considering you bolted as soon as you saw golden haired King Karate- I totally get that- and Bobby went after you… that gave me a different impression.”</p><p><em> Golden haired? </em> Robby thinks he’s missed something, like he took a left turn when it should have been right. Golden haired- “It’s nothing. They haven’t fucked up my face or anything. I just don’t like… their shit.” He sticks his book in his bag, under the impression that the universe or whatever has put him here just gave him a clue he has no idea what to do with. “All that karate talk must have gotten out of hand.” </p><p>One of the biggest understatements to have left Robby’s mouth, other than like, <em> my dad’s a piece of work </em> and <em> I’m having a shitty time at home. </em> </p><p>Daniel snorts. “You have no idea. Absolutely none-”</p><p>Robby Keene broke a guy’s back over a sport no one in the Western sphere gives a fuck about, but alright.</p><p>“-that’s why you went to Miyagi’s, right? To learn real kata and defense stuff? I get it.”</p><p>Robby pushes open the entrance door, not surprised to see that the dickheads that ride motorbikes to school are the pack of Cobras. Makes perfect sense.</p><p>“Listen, I was in a bad place when I went over to your sensei’s. I don’t want to pick karate back up. It’s… kind of ruined my life.”</p><p>At least Mr. LaRusso takes a moment to understand this before inevitably coming to the same state of disbelief his dad did. “Ruined your life? It was ruining <em> my </em> life before I started learning. Maybe you-”</p><p>Robby snaps, turning on him. “You don’t get it, M- Daniel. I didn’t get my life ruined at some- <em> tournament. </em>It was all stupid street fights and then one at- at my old school. I used offense when I shouldn’t have and I fucked up a guy’s back, so, fuck karate.”</p><p>Teenaged Mr. LaRusso must have the emotional instincts of a rock, because there’s barely a pause before he goes:</p><p>“That reminds me of this stuff about balance-”</p><p>Before Robby can think about anything other than <em> shut the fuck up what can you possibly know, </em> he snatches Daniel by the front of his red hoodie. Several students immediately back away, and Robby almost laughs at how easy that was, taking in Daniel’s wide eyed brown gaze. </p><p>It’s too close to Miguel’s. It makes him tighten his grip.</p><p>“What are you not getting? What- what is it that makes you think I need Mister Miyagi’s lessons on balance? You think I can’t do something right now? You’ve only been doing karate for a fucking month.”</p><p>Confusion creases Mr. LaRusso’s face, and he tries to shove Robby off. “God, I knew something was up! They’re getting around the truce by using you, huh? Did Johnny Lawrence ask you himself? King Karate can’t follow one single rule?” </p><p>Robby pushes him away, harder than he really should, but he thinks about that day at his dad’s crappy little apartment, about having tried to keep Sam safe. What would have Mr. Miyagi thought of that? Giving up on your student? Daniel’s back hits the ground, and Robby hears the echo of a railing thundering in his ears. “Fuck Johnny <em> fucking </em> Lawrence. Stop trying to use me in your stupid fucking fight.” He’s not making any sense, not here, but he’s got people staring - <em> the Cobras are staring </em> - and he’s losing his grip on himself, on his temper. “I don’t need any lessons, I don’t need any training. I just need Cobra Kai to lose.”</p><p>Daniel’s angry and yet he’s silent. That’s a first. Robby sweeps back his shortened hair, and takes a deep breath. “Quit talking to me. If you see me, act like you didn’t.” He straightens his bag, breezes past onlookers, deliberately ignoring his dad’s open staring, an odd look on his face. Robby can’t tell if he’s pissed or a little jealous.</p><p>They’re both so fucking stupid. Maybe that’s why Robby turned out to be such a little fuckup.</p><p> </p><p>He storms the sidewalks of Reseda before shame and embarrassment overcome him. Fuck! He really can’t pick a struggle here, can he? Robby wants to try and get what went on between his dad and his sensei in high school, but they each just- just remind him of what they’ve done. Or… what they’re going to do. Mr. LaRusso does appear to be some skinny victim in high school, but he never <em> quit </em> playing that victim card. And his dad… God, his dad really did peak in high school. The friend group, the attitude. </p><p>The attitude sculpted and perfected by Kreese’s Cobra Kai. It scares and thrills him to think he can see the training inside, and Robby is so tired of feeling conflicted emotions about everything. About Sam, about Miguel, about his disappointing sensei, about his father who he so desperately needs but does not want to need-</p><p>He envisions himself falling off the wheel, reliving falling into the pond of Miyagi-do, except now he’s falling solely at his own fault, into deeper, colder, less forgiving waters. Drowning in the same water he’d first learned to swim in.</p><p>Robby gets as far as finding the Cobra Kai address in a phone book at a booth before losing his nerve, pacing in front of that same booth. He feels, in all aspects, completely manic. He wants someone to tell him what to do, what’s he doing wrong, what’s he doing right. The latter has to be a pretty short list.</p><p>He heads for the shelter, unsure of the next move. </p><p>There is no next move for the rest of the week. He spends his time helping with laundry in the shelter, making himself useful, otherwise he reads where he can. Robby also forgot it’s Thanksgiving Week- there’s a big boom in volunteers that Thursday, handing out the turkey dinner. He has a soft spot for pre-sliced turkey and instant potatoes. It reminds him of Thanksgiving lunches at school, the Wednesday before. It was always half-days at the elementary, so you’d eat lunch and call it a day and you could eat with your family in the cafeteria. His mom came a few times. His dad never did. But Robby liked it, liked sharing a slice of pie with his mother. The years where no one showed up, he just sat with the teachers and tried not to be bothered.</p><p>He wonders how his dad’s Thanksgiving is.</p><p>Come Monday, the only thing Robby Keene is sure of is that he can’t quit. He has to try again. Try to… ease up, on hating Mr. LaRusso. Try not being so touchy about karate. It’s karate. It’s fine. It’s a sport, and it’s a sport with a tournament. This is nothing outrageous.</p><p>Save for the fact that karate comes with <em> life lessons </em> and <em> morals </em> and can piss a guy off enough to tear your shoulder, fracture vertebrae. And karate brought Mr. LaRusso and Robby’s dad together <em> somehow, </em> and karate also did something to them that they won’t talk about.</p><p>So like, fuck karate, but it’s a necessary… evil? A necessary tool? He did enjoy it, enjoyed how it made him feel like… a person, especially when he knew he was <em> good </em> at it. It was just so easy to enjoy inflicting pain with karate, too.</p><p>His shoulder twinges with a phantom pain, of Hawk inflicting that blow. <em> (His dad had raced over to him on the mat.) </em>That’s what the Cobra Kai kids felt. That’s how Miguel felt when he won, isn’t it? Wound the enemy, win the battle?</p><p>Kreese has got to be a psychopath.</p><p>With fabricated ease, Robby cuts through a line into the lunchroom. He has no plans to actually partake of cafeteria food - no lunch money - but pinpoints exactly what he’s looking for.</p><p>Mr. LaRusso is wearing the camo <em> again. </em></p><p>For a moment, Robby just stands there, wishing he didn’t have to run to Mr. LaRusso, that he would come to <em> Robby, </em> or his dad would (does he really need his dad to?). It’s a dumb thing to wish for, entirely useless in this context because <em> they don’t know who he is. </em></p><p>When did that make a difference to Dad?</p><p>Daniel’s entire body slouches over the second Robby slides into the bench opposite him. He’s kind of surprised that Mr. LaRusso’s eating alone.</p><p>“I didn’t bring my white flag, so I’m gonna let you know right now, don’t start shit, alright? You flew off on me, I didn’t do nothin-”</p><p>“Look, I- I know that, okay. That’s why I’m saying sorry. About all of it.” He wonders when it became so easy to say sorry when two fifty year old men can’t say it. To each other, to their student, or to their son. “It was a little… much.” His voice sounds weak to his own ears, and he looks around. </p><p>Daniel shoves a few potato wedges in his mouth, eying him with suspicion. “You’re telling me. Good to know I’m not the only one who’s heard how batshit Cobra Kai is, though. I was starting to think I was an exception.”</p><p>Robby’s lips curl at the sight of Bobby and his dad, shoulder to shoulder. There’s an absolute muscle wall of a guy to Bobby’s left, with a horrendously bleached cut. He looks like a Terminator. He snaps his attention back to Mr. LaRusso. “Well, you still might be. I think Bobby’s the only reason I’m not dead.”</p><p>More true than anyone knows. </p><p>“You said you only needed Cobra Kai to lose. That <em> reeks </em> of some deep rooted feelings, man. Let me guess, you talked to one of their ex-girlfriends- let’s say it was one of… Dutch’s, and the entire death squad goes nuts on you. Is that close?”</p><p>Robby thinks of Miguel catching him and Sam at the roller rink. He’d looked infuriatingly cool, while white… was not Robby’s color, even for a gi, even for a silly Miami Vice suit. “No. It’s hard to explain.” He realizes the specificity of Daniel’s example. “You and… Lawrence fought over a girl?” <em> You can’t judge. You seriously can’t judge. You fought over Mr. LaRusso’s daughter. </em></p><p>He knows that Sam wasn’t the reason he and Miguel hated each other. Kind of hated. Resented. Besides, whether or not Sam wanted to be his girlfriend (he could swallow the bitter pill that she didn’t), there would always be the issue of whether or not Johnny wanted to be his dad or Miguel’s.</p><p>Mr. LaRusso’s shoulders scrunch up. “Well, it- it kind of started like that, but they’d been broken up for weeks and I was just talking to her. Now it’s like… a test. Waiting until the tournament, see who wins, see whether or not they’ll win the right to beat the hell out of me whenever they want.”</p><p>Robby absorbs the information, thinking all of it sounds stupid. “The Cobra Kai sensei agreed to this?”</p><p>“Hey, Mister Miyagi set it up. Told me he saved me two months of beating. Which like, he did, and now I spend all my time training. Only chance I got is to be completely dedicated. Did you ever compete in tournaments when you did karate? What belt are you? Man, Mister Miyagi says he doesn’t believe in belts.” </p><p>“Uh, yeah. Second place. Tore my shoulder, though.” He stares at the lunch table, shakes his head. “First and last tournament, I think. Trophies don’t really make you as happy as you’d think.”</p><p>Mr. LaRusso’s bouncing his leg, shrugging. “Trophy’s just a bonus. I’d like to graduate without getting my teeth kicked in every week. I’m telling you though, it’s weird that their sensei - his name’s Kreese - didn’t give a shit. He seemed ready to beat the daylights out of <em> me </em> and he’s like, a veteran.”</p><p>A war veteran? There are direct connections forming in Robby’s head. He turns and looks at the Cobras. If Mr. Miyagi was a veteran with a Medal of Honor and lessons about defense, balance, and contentment with inner peace, what the hell was the veteran that taught Cobra Kai like?</p><p>Bobby spots him, and Robby rolls his eyes. “Fuck.” </p><p>Mr. LaRusso doesn’t catch on til Bobby’s already crossed the cafeteria. “At least he’s not Johnny. That guy’s intense.”</p><p>The phrase <em> golden hair </em> crosses Robby’s mind and he sets that aside. </p><p>“Daniel,” Bobby nods at him, setting his hands on the table, popping a hip while he leans to talk to them. Daniel’s finishing the scraps of his lunch, mouth full, eyes not hiding his disdain. “Robby, how are you? Looked pretty pissed last week.”</p><p>Robby surrenders. “That’s why I came over. To apologize. Could probably teach your friends how to do that.”</p><p>Bobby grins. “Nah, I couldn’t even get them to. Hey, you never came around the dojo.”</p><p>Daniel tenses, though he’s turned his head to look over at Robby’s dad. Robby thinks he’s on the edge of something. </p><p>“Well, I’m thinking about it. Just to check it out. I seriously doubt I’d join, though. Karate’s not my thing right now.” He’s looking at Daniel looking at his dad, and his dad’s narrowing his eyes, and he remembers that soccer practice, <em> golden hair</em>, the way his dad was itching to have a reason to corner Mr. LaRusso, and it clicks. Oh my God, it <em> clicks. </em></p><p>Recognition dawns on his face and he must make a move because Bobby puts a hand on his forearm. Robby frowns until Bobby mouths at him.</p><p>
  <em> Don’t. </em>
</p><p>Out loud, he says. “Maybe I should give you a ride over to training today so you can see. I brought my car.” He pats Robby’s shoulder, looks over at Daniel, who finally breaks the game of chicken with Johnny. Robby can’t think of him as his dad right now. He can feel his hands shake under the table. </p><p>“You think you’re ready?” Bobby asks Daniel, who gives him a smug smile.</p><p>“You nervous?”</p><p>Bobby smiles. “Not for me. Just wait outside after last bell, Robby. You’ll see what I meant about Sensei Kreese.” He raises his eyebrows with Robby staying silent, until he chokes out his agreement.</p><p>Mr. LaRusso doesn’t notice anything. “What did he say about Kreese?”</p><p><em>Do you have a</em> <em>crush on my dad? Does my dad have a crush on you?</em></p><p>Robby answers as soon as the lunch bell rings.</p><p>“I can’t remember.”</p><p>He feels like he’s been dunked in the Pacific again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>All I have to say about Season 3:<br/>1) I have always been right to stan Bobby Brown<br/>and 2) Johnny interacting with/about Robby had me like the Tyra Banks gif “We were rooting for you!”</p><p>Some more coherent thoughts can be found on my Tumblr, spikeysanders. I use the tag “cobra kai spoilers”</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. five.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>robby has a crisis about miguel &amp; checks out the orginal cobra dojo. chaos follows.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the hours between lunch and the final bell at 3:30, Robby finds access doors to the school roof where he subsequently loses his entire mind.</p><p>This is particularly significant, due to the nice little fact that he is inexplicably (<em>irreversibly?</em>) stuck here, <em> eighteen years </em> before he was born; he’s obviously lost it <em> enough. </em> But now, here in 1984, where Ronald Reagan is president, Michael Jordan plays basketball, and that guy <em> George </em> Michael is alive, are his teenage father and his teenage sensei having… <em> feelings. </em> Feelings for each other. Feelings that are like, physical. In a gross way. Not that Robby minds that either of them aren’t straight, because Robby himself- okay, Robby doesn’t know what he is, that’s not the problem. The problem is that this <em> crush, </em> these angry misplaced feelings, have likely bled through thirty-something years of being apart. It’s crazy, because Robby isn’t exactly sure what knowing this, right now, means for the dad and Mr. LaRusso that he knows.</p><p>He scrubs at his eyes. <em> God. </em> Over a high school rivalry? A rivalry that has <em> that </em> kind of tension underlining it? How can-</p><p>His brain snaps. <em> Miguel Diaz. </em> Oh, <em> fuck. </em>Wait a minute- did that mean he- could he-</p><p>No. No, that doesn’t work out. Not every rivalry means there’s some gay-and-or-bisexual feelings. Tory hates Sam with a frightening intensity. There couldn’t be any, like, vibes there. Right. And Hawk and Demetri-</p><p>Okay. Bad example. Those two… whatever. He can’t like Miguel, not like that: he’s broken his spine. Robby has no way of knowing how he even is, how okay or not okay he left Miguel. If there’s permanent damage. Even if he’s going to be completely fine, Robby’s not a total fucking idiot. That’s months, if not years, of physical therapy. And he knows Miguel’s got a single mother. Physical therapy is a bitch to pay for.</p><p>Fuck. He did that. A family is gonna go into medical debt because of what he did. If Miguel didn’t hate him before, he’ll definitely hate Robby now. His mom would too. That will affect juvie, won’t it? What the… the victim thinks, and the victim’s family? </p><p>When Robby gets back, he’s gonna get fucked by a ten year sentence. He can see it now: they’ll try him as an adult. There could be any number of legal reasons to. He’ll have to earn a GED in prison. He’ll be an easy target for… for any number of things. </p><p>All because of a couple of dumbass fucking teenagers didn’t know what to do about sexual awakenings in the 1980s. Great. That’s really great - and <em> gross </em> - to have to figure out about your <em> father. </em> And your <em> replacement father. </em> </p><p>Robby spends his time to himself going over this cycle of panic, of resentment. He comes to no conclusions - not about himself, not about his dad or Mr. LaRusso - but he does manage to calm down. He can’t get his chest to stop feeling like his ribcage is constricting his lungs - he keeps taking deep breaths of air - so fuck it. He’ll just have to meditate.</p><p>He presses his hands together, like a prayer-</p><p>
  <em> Please God, let this work. </em>
</p><p>-raises his arms over his head with a deep inhale, and goes back down with the exhale. He does this until he can breathe, just breathe without feeling like he was close to a heart attack. For the first time since the fight. Robby misses karate. He misses this part- getting his mind to rein itself in. If he were at the dojo, Sam and he would practice kata, or he’d warm up with the punching bag. It’s like another heartbreak, thinking about karate. Hearing the words <em> she kissed Miguel </em> out of someone else’s mouth, someone who wasn’t Sam, was the first.</p><p>(Actually, the first heartbreak was when he was five and hadn’t seen his dad in months. He could hear his mom cussing on the phone from his tiny little room, staring at stained carpet, looking at his mismatched collection of toys, thinking <em> is it my fault? </em>)</p><p>He’s used to it. What did he want from karate in the first place? To piss off his dad? </p><p>
  <em> Look at where that got you. </em>
</p><p>He moves from the roof, frustrated.</p><p>Bobby drives the eighties version of a soccer mom car. It’s an ugly green station wagon with that very specific tacky retro wood detailing. He seems somewhat embarrassed by it as he shuffles over to the drivers side. </p><p>“My dad split the cost with me, so it’s not bad. It’s no Camaro or anything.” </p><p>Robby gets in cautiously, placing his bag in his lap while Bobby fiddles with the radio. Cobra Kai. He doubts he’s going to get what he wants from looking in on the dojo. What does he want? To see this Kreese, immediately understand why <em> Strike First, Strike Hard, No Mercy </em> was something you could teach a class of teenagers?</p><p>
  <em> And your dad had the worst teacher there ever was. </em>
</p><p>He wants to know. He feels like he should know; out of all the things his dad hasn’t told him (and he has a clear indication that there’s a lot) Johnny Lawrence’s sensei ranks number one.</p><p>Maybe number two. Number one: Johnny Lawrence wants to fuck Daniel LaRusso.</p><p>The thought makes Robby’s stomach twist, but like, it’s true enough. He must be too quiet, because Bobby clicks his tongue.</p><p>“Look, whatever you were going to say to Daniel at lunch, you can’t be doing that shit, alright?”</p><p>Robby turns from looking at the worn carpeting. “Doing what shit? I wasn’t-”</p><p>“Yes, you were.” Bobby counters with finality. “And no matter what that shit might have been, it’s not right to bring it up.”</p><p>Robby can feel his brow crease, attempting to catch up to this guy’s thought process. Bobby puts him out of his misery. “You can’t go around telling people what they haven’t figured out yet. Especially not to Johnny. You don’t say anything to Johnny. Are you getting it?” He speaks fiercely, with a loyalty Robby’s never heard from any of his friends. </p><p>Oh. Oh wait a minute- “I wasn’t- I wasn’t going to out anybody! That’s fucked up.” He can feel the heat rise to his face, mortified.</p><p>“There’s no way I could have known that. That goes for Daniel, too: he’d throw a complete tantrum, anyway. He’s a pain in the ass, but no one needs that.”</p><p>Robby leans towards him, lips pressed together, critical. “Do you even think Daniel has a shot at the tournament?”</p><p>He’s surprised that Bobby laughs, a mean sound that contrasts what he’s seen from him. “No, no, I think… I honestly think he won’t last past two rounds. He’s not gonna win it, that’s for sure.”</p><p>Robby’s seen the nearly three-foot-tall trophy that bears the exact opposite outcome. He hasn’t fucked that up, has he? It’s in a few weeks, and Mr. LaRusso’s still training. There’s no way anything other than him winning can happen. That’s like, law. Sacred history between the rivalry of Cobra Kai and Miyagi-do.</p><p>Robby didn’t say it wasn’t stupid. It’s still sacred.</p><p>“He’s put up a fight with you guys for long enough. What’s to stop him from doing that in an arena?”</p><p>Bobby shakes his head, pulling in a parking spot in front of a diner. “Daniel didn’t exactly <em> win </em> any of those fights.” Oddly enough, he sounds regretful about it. Robby knows why: he’s seen enough of the karate macho peacocking to know this for certain.</p><p>“Were any of those fights exactly fair?” He crosses his arms, leaning back in the seat. “There’s what, six of you guys, and you’re not exactly small. That’s what the, uh, the kids at my old school would do. Gang up on people. It’s overkill.”</p><p>“It’s- that’s not what happened. God, I’m not gonna force you to see our training, you know that? I really just wanted to be sure you wouldn’t run your mouth, not to Daniel, not to Johnny, not to anybody.” Bobby seems irritated with him. Nice to know Robby has that effect, like he can’t help himself from pushing people, see what they can take, inevitably drive them off.</p><p>“I wasn’t, and I’m not. And I-” The embarrassing sound that comes from Robby’s stomach makes him shut up for a minute, and he bites his tongue. He hates, with a thorough fucking passion, when anyone can tell he’s skipped a meal. It’s happened too many times at school, at other people’s houses, as a kid for him to ever make amends with it.</p><p>Bobby’s brows pinch together. “You didn’t eat lunch.” It’s not a question, and he looks back at the road, to Robby, and back to the road again. Robby is increasingly unnerved, because that wasn’t a question, and Bobby is proving himself to be observant. </p><p>“I didn’t have lunch money.”</p><p>“And you didn’t pack anything?” Bobby tiptoes around a delicate assumption; with the beach incident and this, he’s probably assuming Robby’s home life is hell. Which, you know, isn’t <em> wrong, </em> but Robby always reasons with himself that he could have it worse. He’s seen what worse looks like, whenever he showed up at school and with the crowd he ran around with. He just shrugs, catching sight of the Cobra Kai dojo. The outside is mostly plain and unassuming, deceptive in how it blends in with the surrounding storefronts. Bobby parks across the street, and starts digging in his pocket, holding out a bill. “There’s a diner you can get something at.”</p><p>Robby sets his jaw. “I don’t-”</p><p>He shakes his head. “I don’t <em> care. </em> Just take it. It’ll be easier than you showing up with me right now. Uh, my sensei’s cool, but he can be intimidating.” He doesn’t move til Robby takes the five dollars, then grabs a gym bag from behind his seat. Intimidating… whatever this man’s done has followed Valley karate into the 21st century. Robby leaves his backpack, so he has a reason to at least wait for Bobby’s training to be over.</p><p>He loiters outside the car while Bobby throws a hand up at him while crossing the street. “It’s about two hours, tops! Just walk in!”</p><p>Robby nods, frowning at the awful snake logo that adorns the sign- the amount of times he was assaulted by the sight of Cobra Kai merchandise <em> alone- </em></p><p>He ducks in to the diner, a clean, classic set up. He picks a window table and looks at the menu, deciding on a sandwich, distantly remembering he’ll likely be late for dinner at the shelter. Bobby is too nice.</p><p><em> Two hours, tops </em>.</p><p>He picks off the onions from his sandwich when it comes out, feeling ridiculously lonely. If the universe or God or something else dropped him here, couldn’t he at least have someone who was equally as out of place? With his track record, it would have been Miguel. Preferably unscathed, though. </p><p>Miguel runs his mouth when he feels any excess emotion, which probably would have meant even more <em> scenes. </em> Would have definitely been walking around still calling Robby’s teenage father sensei.</p><p>Robby laughs to himself, looking like a complete freak. Miguel wouldn’t hesitate to check out the original Cobra Kai. Does that guy have any hang ups at all? Other than, like, swinging for people’s faces who show up to parties with his girlfriend, of course. And exploiting an injury-</p><p>
  <em> Miguel had let go of him during the fight. </em>
</p><p>Robby wants to know why. Selfishly, he wants to believe Miguel showed mercy to prove he was the better man, further shown by Robby sending him over a railing. Maybe Robby doesn’t want to admit Miguel might have done so because of his dad. That doesn’t sound right. He’s supposed to take the bare minimum fatherly act of asking your students <em> not </em> to fuck up your son?</p><p>Still, from a dojo that preaches no mercy…</p><p>Robby again wills with everything in him that Miguel is going to be fine, that he hasn’t run away from a murder. That’s what it would feel like- it feels like that, anyway, late at night. Sleeping in the shelter, noise and snores around him, staring at ceiling tiles, Robby is certain he’s killed someone. Someone he knows was - is! - loved. Has friends, has a mother, has Sam, has his dad. </p><p>He looks at Cobra Kai across the street. <em> His dad. </em></p><p>Robby throws the five dollar bill down on the table and heads out.</p><p> </p><p>The inside of the dojo is white like the student gis, and the sensei stalks around a formed circle, dressed in black. There are two point keepers, and two students picked to spar. Robby turns to his right to inspect his immediate surroundings.</p><p>There is a cardboard cutout of the Cobra Kai sensei.</p><p>He immediately bites the inside of his cheek: he’s not going to laugh. He physically can’t laugh here. Not while this Kreese is barking: </p><p>“Mister Brown! Mister Reynolds! To the mat!” </p><p>He inspects the trophies following the ridiculous fucking cutout. All-Valley isn’t the only tournament: there’s clout from competitions in San Diego, San Francisco, one from Sacramento. The majority are - if not all - first place.</p><p>He’d played soccer when he was little, and no matter how his team did, his mom kept every dinky little trophy, every ribbon. It’s not exactly the same, but Robby’s mom had been proud of each outcome. Those trophies had been displayed for a few months, then stored away, likely lost now to the eviction. </p><p>Regardless of the Cobra Kai talent, there’s no way they could all place at the top. Did they just keep the silver and bronze at home?</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Bobby (Bobby Brown sounds like a comic character) pin someone and land a finishing jab to the jaw. The action makes Robby’s nerves spike.</p><p>A framed picture’s next. A soldier (a younger Sensei Cutout) poses with a fucking <em> gun </em> (he doesn’t know what kind, he was never that kind of kid), face somehow blank yet smug. Robby reads:</p><p>
  <em> Cpt. John Kreese U.S. ARMY </em>
</p><p>
  <em> 1970 - 1972 KARATE CHAMPION </em>
</p><p>Kreese does not acknowledge his presence when Robby turns to look at him. He’s retained that soldier build, only adding to his optics as a terrifying man. And he is terrifying: addressing his students in a manner Robby’s only heard in war movies. An army veteran - Vietnam, right? - that trains like a drill sergeant. </p><p>Not to mention the weapons on the walls. Miyagi-do had the scrolls, the trophy, and the Medal of Honor. This was definitely a change. </p><p>Against the warning signs, Robby takes a seat, right off the entry to the proper dojo space. There’s plenty of time to understand this Kreese, past what he’s been able to piece together from the Cobra Kai under his dad, from what Mr. LaRusso will say. </p><p>He folds his arms, weakly returning a head nod Bobby briefly sends his way. It’s only then that Kreese looks at him, and Robby <em> does not flinch, </em> but it takes everything not to. </p><p>“Mister Lawrence!”</p><p>“Yes, sensei!” God, he sounds so young. It bothers Robby how much Mr. LaRusso and his dad sound like themselves, but so different. Kreese turns to the head of the room.</p><p>“Choose your enemy for the mat.”</p><p>“Yes, sensei!” There’s hardly a pause before his dad taps the shoulder of the peroxide bottle blond Terminator guy. Robby controls the look on his face, though he notices everyone else is containing their excitement. Bobby only frowns.</p><p>Once they bow to one another, they each take a fighting stance. Robby, irritably, thinks his dad’s fighting stance is cool, like he’s containing himself just enough, even though you can practically feel the calculation of his first move radiate off him. Terminator bounces, and finally-</p><p>His dad aims a kick for his opponent’s thigh, which Terminator counters with a strike, and takes two steps before attempting a jumping kick (Robby thinks he’s trying to show off, maybe go for a butterfly?), allowing for Robby’s dad to catch the leg and drop him, hitting him in the chest. Robby- he doesn’t know how to feel. It’s cool, but there’s a ferocity here, an anger, that reminds him of the school brawl. </p><p>“Finish him!”</p><p>His dad strikes his supposed friend again, and Kreese walks into the circle, edging the Terminator with a kick. He gets up, eyes murderous and on the one Johnny Lawrence, but he joins the other students in line. “What Mister Lawrence has demonstrated is what will sweep the tournament- no mercy! Mercy is not for battle! Mercy is what gets you killed!”</p><p>Robby’s tongue catches in his teeth, and he digs his nails in his palms. Mercy is what gets you killed- Miguel showed him mercy, backed off of him. Robby did not.</p><p>Kreese lines up his students in rows, and they practice their jabs, vocalizing with each hit. It’s disconcerting, bringing him back to his own tournament. </p><p>There’s a few minutes of this before Kreese, still stalking the room, moves quickly and pins one of his own students to the floor. “Are you focused, Mister Holland?”</p><p>“N-No, sensei!”</p><p>The other Cobra students are still going through the moves, and no one flinches as Kreese lands a purposeful fist next to his own student’s face. “What happens when your enemy is unfocused? What happens, Mister Holland?”</p><p>To the kid’s credit, his voice doesn’t waiver this time. “They get eaten.”</p><p>“Don’t be like your enemy! Sixty push-ups, on your knuckles, count them!” And when Kreese jumps back up, his eyes rake over Robby, and Robby may not be a coward, but that’s enough for him. He waits long enough for Kreese to turn before he’s off his seat. He knocks into the stupid cutout as he goes.</p><p>What fucking dojo is this?</p><p> </p><p>Robby wants to believe he doesn’t get the appeal of what he saw in Cobra Kai, but he does. Karate is powerful- and his dad’s obviously wielding that. The way he had caught that leg and twisted his opponent down to be pinned reminds Robby of how he did that to Miguel. Slammed his elbow into his knee, then to the side of his face.</p><p>Not very Miyagi-do.</p><p>There’s something that scares him about Kreese, though, past the visuals. Referring to opponents as the ‘enemy’, barking orders as though they’ve enrolled in a boot camp, pinning his own student. It bothers him, and it bothers him that he thinks he’s starting to understand his dad’s obsession with Cobra Kai. </p><p>He loiters outside Bobby’s car, thinking if he’s going about this the right way. There’s not exactly a guidebook for… time travel, and being around two people who have fucked up your life, who don’t <em> know </em> they’ve fucked up your life.</p><p>Robby spots the Cobras coming out as a unit, and he straightens up from where he’d been leaning against the car hood. He will say, though, that it’s sad how <em> happy </em> his dad looks as a teen, though he chalks it up to “peaking in high school”. Kept the same car for years, bitched about Daniel LaRusso too often-</p><p>Well, it’s not like Mr. LaRusso’s innocent in that. He’s the one that further fanned some flames of an old ass high school drama. </p><p>Even if Miguel hates Robby, and Robby’s the worst person to ever walk the halls of West Valley High, he hopes they’re more mature than their senseis.</p><p>Bobby’s face is pinched, and Robby wonders why up until his own <em> dad, </em> with a glint in his eye, that fucking red jacket on, passes in front of his friend.</p><p>He thumps Robby’s chest so he’s against the car door.</p><p>“Was our training a little too much for you, <em> Robby? </em>” And Robby’s never heard his name sound like that, a condescending sneer. He swats away the hand his dad has braced on the car, taking a step forward while Johnny holds his fists at his side.</p><p>“Johnny-” Bobby warns, out of concern for his ugly mom car, probably. </p><p>“I told you before- I’m done with karate. Why the fuck should that bother you?” </p><p>“Didn’t say it bothered me. I’m just interested in why you’d be hanging around LaRusso, like a nice little strapon-” Robby can feel his skin heat: no one has <em> ever </em> talked to him like this. The Terminator behind his dad chuckles. “-only to show up here and pussy out. So, again, was our training too much? Gonna run off and tell LaRusso he’s better off quitting?”</p><p><em> He’s gonna win, you fucking worthless- </em>“Quitting? That’s cute, I thought you’d want to kick his ass in front of an audience. But one-on-one isn’t really your thing, right? Gotta have your buddies help you out?”</p><p>There’s a pretty clear look on Johnny’s face - hatred - before Robby does something he’d been debating for years. </p><p>He takes a swing at his dad. </p><p>A lot happens very quickly- Johnny catches his wrist, using his other arm to twist Robby’s and pin his hand against Robby’s shoulder. </p><p>
  <em> Like that move? Learned it from your dad. </em>
</p><p>Johnny turns him around and slams him against the driver’s door, knocking the wind out of him. He shoves back against him, hearing nothing but the roaring of blood rushing in his ears. Robby kicks up from the door, getting out of Johnny’s hold, and tries to aim a knee to his gut. Johnny’s lips thin, hard pressed into a line; he catches Robby’s leg, jabs him in the thigh, turns him, and all but throws him at the side of Bobby’s car. </p><p>Robby knows he’s hit it- there’s an explosion of pain at his temple, and he crumples, head further hitting the pavement. </p><p>“Jesus Christ, Johnny, can’t you hold back?!”</p><p>He blinks, fuzzy vision confusing him. He hates his dad. His dad’s never hit him. </p><p>“Get it together, Bobby- stop giving a shit about him. You wouldn’t want Sensei to think you’re soft.”</p><p>Soft. No. Robby hit that car pretty hard. Is he bleeding?</p><p>“Dad?” He remembers asking. There’s someone kneeling next to him. Can’t be his dad. His dad doesn’t care. “I’m sorry about Miguel.” His words slur, but that’s probably the only way his dad would ever care about him- if he apologizes for Miguel.</p><p>He closes his eyes, feeling exhausted. Miguel should have done him a favor and kicked him off a balcony. He’d be better off that way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Due to my semester starting this week, I think I’ll be updating once a month until this fic is completed. With that being said, I’m hoping to expand the word count of the chapters to accommodate for longer wait in between.<br/>Also, apologies for young Johnny. I’m trying to figure out how to write him. I probably need to watch KK1 a couple more times to refresh.<br/>As always, stan Bobby Brown.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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